


eutopia

by Puro



Series: Poisoned Chalice [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Amaurotine Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Ascians (Final Fantasy XIV), Childhood Memories, Developing Relationship, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Gen, Headcanon, Multi, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Lives, Polyamory, Reunions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28617504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puro/pseuds/Puro
Summary: Gemini thought by the river, 'I will sing her a song.' He didn't know where she was, but he hoped his song would reach her.or;The distance between Emet-Selch and Azem was no stranger, until she decides to return to Amaurot after a decade of errands.
Relationships: Azem & Hythlodaeus (Final Fantasy XIV), Azem/Emet-Selch (Final Fantasy XIV), Emet-Selch/Hythlodaeus (Final Fantasy XIV), Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Series: Poisoned Chalice [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1482569
Kudos: 15





	eutopia

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This work will mostly explore and build headcanons concerning Emet-Selch and Azem back in the days of Amaurot, with many sprinkles of Hythlodaeus because I starve for content. There will be progression through chapters, though I'm still debating whether to include relevant oneshots in here. Tags might change with future updates. Thank you for reading!

Amaurotines’ souls are rather special. Like a tangible part of them, they revolve within their owners and have the ability to interact with others’. Regardless, it’s polite decency not to reach out so openly with one’s soul, especially when dealing with strangers. Considering one’s aura holds the convergence of everything abstract, it’s far from shocking how intimate of a business it’s regarded as in Amaurot—bordering sacred, some would even argue.

And Emet-Selch agreed. His closeness to the Underworld—that gorgeous, glistening sea of life permeating the very air surrounding him—had only served to reinforce his reverence for it, compelling him to instill his faith in it and so devote himself to its preservation. Most of the stewards of the star had the power to gaze upon the aetheric trail that mystified the skies. Yet, could they understand it? Were they able to hear it, feel it, to stretch a hand forth and let the insurmountable energy blend with flesh as the dew that slips back into the wet earth? Of course they couldn’t; or that’s what he’d been constantly reminded of, ever since he first channelled the enigmatic essence of the Underworld unto his form. They called him a mage-in-the-making, a promising wielder, destined to fit shoes far bigger than he’d hoped. Despite the blather, he couldn’t help but feel expectant to what lay ahead.

That is until _his_ talent had awoken. A contender—no, more of a companion that rivalled his proficiency. Unremarkable was the lad compared to his peers, though none could deny the ease with which he communed with the colourful stream of souls, almost like he was cradled by it the moment he was born. How bothersome, the prodigy child would think. While grateful for shuffling the unbearable attention off him, he grew resentful over the late-bloomer. Hythlodaeus, he called himself, once when he carelessly approached a star-gazing Emet-Selch.

Nights like those, scurried away from the watch of their Guardian, Hythlodaeus would disturb his peace to incite many wondrous topics to debate. He could tell that they both held an intricate fascination for the world. At one point, he believed that he was approaching the to-be-Architect solely to soothe the tension between them. Would he but had a smidgen of optimism, he would’ve understood the other humbly wished for at least a single compassionate soul amidst the countless, expectant people that knew them.

Comfortably snug on the cushions of his chair, Emet-Selch mulled over those thoughts. The soft edges of his porcelain cup hovered before his lips, an aromatic fragrance ascending from the liquid contained within. Opposite to him, a garnet-haired fellow examined his company. “If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you dislike the tea I make,” Hythlodaeus, flashing a wide grin, broke the silence. “What busies your mind, friend?”

 _You complacent bastard._ “Idle contemplation,” the golden-eyed amaurotine was quick to shoot down the curious inquiry. “Nothing worth mentioning out loud. Your tea is fine.”

“Fine, he says,” his chuckle was short-lived, as he takes a small sip of his drink. “You used to be a lot less terse when complimenting my creations.” Lazy, green eyes turned to the wall of glass behind his seat, admiring the sky-piercing buildings dotting the horizon as he peacefully exhaled. “‘Tis a wonderful afternoon, would you not agree?”

Strange that he’d ask him that, as he already knew what he’d reply. He raised his sight forth, basking in the same scenery the other was indulging in. A canvas of darkening blue blurred with purple and orange, the sun peeking from behind a fin-shaped structure, bathing the canopy of the city with yellow rays. Emet-Selch loved his home—he simply didn’t verbalise it often. Emotionally constipated as he was, it was possible for him to drop his charade and actually appreciate that which he held dear.

That’s usually how his friend stumbled upon him; strewn on the grass or reclined against a comfortable surface, lost in the beauty of it all, perhaps at times too deep in admiration to pay anything else any notice. Like then, for example, unintentionally losing grasp of reality, while he panned his vision from tower to tower, and let the splash of glassy colours brim his mind. “Mhm,” the newest member of the Convocation mumbled. 

How heavenly Amaurot was, and through his efforts he’d make sure it continued to be so.

Hythlodaeus shifted back in his direction, keenly smiling upon seeing him fawn over the landscape. “A sight for sore eyes,” he hummed absentmindedly. “Do entertain me, honourable Emet-Selch. Is it true that you are hard-pressed by your work as of late?”

Disturbed in a flash by his friend’s words, the Architect sighed and returned his golden glare to his cup. “If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you’re asking out of genuine concern,” he taunted in hassled fashion. Gulping down some of the amber-hued infusion, Emet-Selch hunched forward to place the cup on its plate. “Why would it matter?”

 _Oh-ho_. Straight away, the redheaded ancient’s grin widened. Life is quite bountiful when it chose to be. “So you’ve found her.”

The speed with which Emet-Selch’s narrowed eyes snapped back at his friend would catch many immortals by surprise. Could not one day go by, one whole day at least, that Hythlodaeus wouldn’t toy him like an unsuspecting newborn? Whenever he felt like he was taking his own few steps, there the esteemed Hythlodaeus appeared to have made tenfold more. It slightly estranged him how witty and sly he was.

“What’s this bitter facade, my partner?” the other heartily laughed, shoulders shaking in rhythm. “I had reckoned you would’ve bore the news with perhaps more thrill.” A slice of truth, bare in mind. Usually, Hythlodaeus shared his apathy for the jugglings of the Fourteen, but he could tell when matters became a bit too personal to remain as biased. “Come now, shed your rancor and speak from the heart. How is she faring?”

He was making a joke out of him. “Oh, she’s faring,” Emet-Selch brushed the white locks away from his face as he commented. “Surely you’ve come to hear of her little plays on the streets of Amaurot.”

Hythlodaeus nodded contently. He reached for his cup and hesitated before taking a sip. “Not solely Amaurot, but yes. She certainly must have found that which truly brings her joy,” he added. Upon sighting Emet-Selch’s furrowed brow, he lightly shook his head. “I do possess the ability to pinpoint her whereabouts, yet, as you’re aware, I thought it best to respect her wishes and let her be.”

Ah, then all these years, all this damned time, his _dearest friend_ had always been connected to her one way or another. He clicked his tongue and glanced to a far corner of the penthouse, turmoil bubbling in his head. He should’ve expected the chief of the Architect’s Bureau to prick him like so. Were it not because he would give himself and his illogical sentiments away, Emet-Selch would’ve flung an ill-willed retort his way.

Leaning back onto the softness of his own chair, Hythlodaeus let his companion rummage through his surely troubled conscience. “Azem; she has chosen to wear such title with pride, am I correct?” He raised the question in an effort to place him back on track. “And, dare I believe, she remains as unconventional as ever?”

“Know the answer before even raising the inquiry, do we now?” Emet-Selch jeered through gritted teeth. So much for attempting to remain within reason, he mentally reprimanded himself. “... Aye, as far as I recall, she’s only much less bound than before.”

“Good,” the other robed individual smoothed his provoking expression. “I can imagine how that reunion played out for the two of you.” He tilted his head to a side, crossing his arms. “Now, a heartfelt question, if you do not mind… How do you feel, my friend?”

Donning a brooding frown and pursed lips, the Architect fell to silence. How did he feel? Hells, how _did_ he feel? Conflict enraptured him the moment he suspected Azem had secretly returned to Amaurot. He knew not what game was being played, but still he let it continue, eager for his deliberations to bear fruit.

Be that as it may, when the Convocation caught drift of her antics, the game was forced to end. For as much as Emet-Selch desired to be as personally unattached as possible, they had him scour for her and deliver a message on their account. Indeed, everything had been a storm of inner chaos. Had he shunned the reactions that his soul spun along this turn of events? Did he let his honesty wilt after having parted ways?

She bid him he forget, and now here she was, in flesh and bone, ever present.

Emet-Selch groaned in an irritated fashion. “I can’t say,” he finally spat out. “Can’t tell how, I suppose.” A hand of his scratched the back of his head—a sign of commotion perturbing him, Hythlodaeus knew—before forcefully rubbing his temples with the palm of his hand.

“I should be on my way,” Hythlodaeus said out of the blue and stood, fitting his hood back on his head. Emet-Selch regarded his friend with wide eyes, following him as he avoided the small table and made to his side. “Your beloved Persephone will arrive from their duties pronto, and I assume they would rather vent to your tired ears than mine.” Hythlodaeus leaned down to reach him, planting a modest kiss on the side of his neck, before conjuring his white mask back onto his face. “Have a pleasant night. Send my regards, will you?”

The golden-eyed amaurotine incredulously blinked as his friend disappeared in a matter of seconds. _The gall of this man_. Sighing himself awake, Emet-Selch settled down from the high and lows of their half-arsed catharsis, starting to clean the room for the arrival of his other partner.

Every now and then, he would look beyond the glass pane. Amaurot was beginning to light up, a myriad of windows glowing against the inky, star-speckled sky. Somewhere out there, she was preparing another performance. He _had_ been tasked with stopping her from doing so, though he convinced himself to postpone it for a couple more nights.

One of his yawns got strangled in his throat when the elevator doors slid open. When he had appeared from the adjacent room to greet the person, he heard the echoing slam of a door hitting its frame. Looks like he’d have to wait. Emet-Selch stepped back to his chair, melting in its plush hug, hanging his head back and closing his eyes. _’What story would she tell tonight?’_ , he thought then.


End file.
